Then There Were Nun

by Dakota Cassidy

  “It wasn’t fifty years ago,” Coop denied. “It was fifty-seven.”

  “Fifty-seven…two hundred and seven…what difference does it make, Coopie? A man has no ears because of you.”

  “That is not the truth, Quigley Livingston. I only nicked—”

  “Guys!” I yelped as I pulled onto the road and out into traffic. Cobbler Cove was busy today, and if we hoped to get to the bridge before lunch, we needed to make haste. “Knock it off, would you, please? I’m tired. We need to be discussing a strategy or something, if we want to help Higgs, not bickering about lopping ears.”

  Wait.

  I turned to Coop. “Did you really lop someone’s ears off?” As quickly as I asked the question, I held up my hand to keep her from answering. “No! Don’t tell me. Save it for later when I can handle hearing about an earless man. For now, what do we have to say about what we’ve learned so far? Do we think the murderer is an angry tenant or someone he loaned money to? Or do we think the person who killed Fergus is out for revenge against Higgs? Why not just kill Higgs and be done with it?”

  Coop was the first to give her theory. “Where I come from, killing is a final act, but it isn’t done in vain or without fanfare. The process before is slow and precise.”

  My heart pounded in my chest. The mere idea of killing someone—anyone—was so foreign to me. Yet, Coop knew all about it.

  “I don’t understand, Coop.”

  Livingston’s feathers ruffled. “She means, torturing someone can be far worse than killin’ ’em, lass. If Higgs were to rot in jail, especially in the way an ex-police officer likely would, his stay would be none too pleasant. Killing him is too easy. If this is an act of revenge, they want him to suffer.”

  I gulped, thankful we’d hit a red light so I could gather my wits. “But if that’s the case, then who is it? Everyone from that gang is in federal prison and no one’s escaped. That leaves us with a big dead end.”

  As I said those words, one light up, I spotted Jay again, crossing the crosswalk and, as my eyes followed to where he was headed, I noted he was entering another bank.

  Huh. Good on him for having more than one bank account.

  “How do we know all the gang members are in prison? Maybe someone is still at large?” Coop reasoned, and I had to agree.

  “Okay, so who from the Blood Squad is angry enough with Higgs to kill Fergus and frame him? Who has that kind of beef with him?”

  “Maybe they’re from Young Money,” Livingston said—also a reasonable point. “Maybe their knickers are in a twist because your Higgs got them all arrested and they’re out to make him pay. Someone who wasn’t a part of the shootin’.”

  “Also fair.” I pressed the heel of my hand to my head and rubbed, pulling into a shady area under the bridge where I’d seen many of the homeless gather. I turned the car off and sat, listening to the silence.

  Most everyone was either off doing whatever they did to pass the time or they were ensconced in their tents. The rusty barrels typically lit at night for warmth were devoid of flames and only a few people gathered in clusters, but I didn’t see Solomon or Gilligan, as I’d come to mentally call him, anywhere.

  “Is your friend Solomon here, Trixie?”

  I shook my head, dropping the keys into my purse, watching some boys on skateboards in the distance. “No. But it can’t hurt to talk to other people about whether they’ve seen Solomon, can it? Or if they heard anything about what happened to Fergus.”

  “Then let’s do this.”

  “Let’s do this peacefully, yes?” I glanced at her with a question in my eyes.

  I heard the thump of her sword, likely tucked next to the passenger seat. “Fine. No sword. Let’s go.”

  Turning around, I caught Livingston’s glassy eyes with mine. “Will you be all right for a few minutes if we leave you alone with the windows down? I’ll never take my eyes off the car, okay?”

  “Go on with ya, lass. Go save the handsome lad.”

  I gave him a crooked smile. “How do you know if he’s handsome?”

  “Coopie went on and on about him. Described him and everythin’. I’m sure he’s a real looker. Now off with the two of ya. I’m needin’ my mid-mornin’ nap. But do me a favor, don’t go adoptin’ any more strays. The inn’s full up with the crazies for now.”

  I barked a laugh as I jumped out of the car and shut the door, my feet sinking into the muddy terrain.

  But once more, for the cheap seats, I tapped Coop on the arm. I didn’t understand how or why this had become so important to her. “Coop? What suddenly made you decide Higgs and his arrest were so important that you had to interfere with police business? I don’t get it. You’ve only met him once. Is it something more than your gut telling you he’s innocent?”

  She stopped and looked at me, that penetrating gaze she was so good at gluing me where I stood. “Because Higgs is important to our future, Trixie. He can’t be important if he’s in jail with the bad guys.”

  Her words stopped me cold. “Important? Important how?”

  “Remember when I told you I feel his innocence in my gut?”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I rocked back on my feet. “I do. You said it was just like the way Stevie sometimes feels when she’s trying to solve a murder.”

  “That’s right. That’s also how I feel about Higgs in our lives, in the future—and also about being a part of a community. He’s an important part of it because he helps these people, and if what you say about community is true, how can we leave him to the wolves if we wish to be a part of this community? That’s why it’s so important to me. I’m preserving our community, and if someday we find ourselves in the same kind of trouble, I hope he’ll help us, too. I don’t have to be his best friend to care enough that he’s not sentenced to life in prison, do I? I know what it is to be wrongfully accused of something I didn’t do. It was an awful feeling, Trixie. I don’t want to see that happen to him because I know he didn’t do it.”

  Preserving our community, wrongfully accused… My sweet demon was learning. Every day. And her conviction in Higgs’s innocence was admirable.

  So I bobbed my head. “Okay then. That’s good enough for me.”

  With that, we turned our attention to the encampments under the bridge.

  Traffic on Hawthorne was light this midday, making for less noise. As I plodded through the encampment, trying not to disturb people sleeping, I weaved my way through shopping carts and endless amounts of plastic bottles and debris.

  “Where do we start?” Coop whispered, her voice almost shaky, striking me as odd. Coop wasn’t afraid of anything—ever.

  I gripped her arm, keeping one eye on the car. “What’s wrong, Coop?”

  “This.” She spread her lean arms wide, her face grimmer than usual. “This is truly Hell on Earth.”

  As I looked around, sadly, I had to agree. There was grief here, rife in the air. There was desolation, despair, isolation…and I wanted to make it better, or at least ease some of the suffering. But realistically, I knew some people simply didn’t want any help. They’d been shunned by society, so they’d made their own place in the world together, and to encroach was invasive to them.

  I smiled in sympathy. Once more wondering what Coop had seen in Hell, then I shut down that part of my brain. I’m not sure I’m ready to know how she suffered.

  “Do you want to wait in the car, Coop?”

  “And let you do this alone? Not on this day or any day hereafter.”

  I grinned at her and pinched her cheek. “Okay then. Let’s poke around.”

  “Would ya look at the fancy ladies? More social workers, boys. Better hide ’em if you got ’em,” a voice crowed, raspy and taunting.

  Coop looked down at the ground about thirty feet away and pointed to a spot by a concrete piling where a woman with wiry jet-black and silver hair and a fake purple fur coat sat, clutching a wide rectangular purse that had a picture of Hello Kitty on it.

  She pull
ed it close as she rose, her knobby finger pointing at us in a manner that was anything but friendly as everyone around her scattered. “You go on and git!” she shouted, reeling toward us, the coat sliding off to reveal a bony shoulder.

  I held my hands up in surrender fashion. “We mean no harm. We’re just looking for a friend.”

  She popped her lips, her sunken mouth wrinkling in distaste. “You ain’t got no friends here, fancy lady. Social workers and the cops ain’t no friends o’ mine!”

  Instead of vehemently defending myself, I stayed as calm as I could and used my reasonable tone. The hope was to get these folks to trust me eventually. I planned on sticking around Cobbler Cove, and I wanted to be of service. But I fully expected to be met with skepticism.

  Rolling up the sleeves of my thin pullover, I squared my shoulders. “Hi there. I’m Trixie Lavender, and this is my friend, Coop O’Shea. Nice to meet you. And we’re not social workers. Not even close. We own a tattoo shop called Inkerbelle’s—or we will once those nosy police are done with their investigation.”

  Now her narrow gray eyes expressed interest as her fingers clutched her purse tighter to her belly. “Ain’t you the fancy pants who knew that Fergus McDuff? He’s a bad man. So bad. He loans money to people and then he charges ’em crazy interest and if you don’t pay up, he’ll break your legs right off!” She mimicked a breaking motion with her two hands then laughed with glee.

  But it wasn’t anything we didn’t already know at this point. Fergus was a loan shark, among other terrible things. If only we could find out who he’d loan-sharked to, we might have some suspects.

  “Hey, didn’t he get hisself killed over there at your place?”

  I took a small step closer, keeping a serious face. “He did. Did you know Fergus?”

  She screwed up her face and spat, “Yeah, I knew him all right. He stomped in a puddle once right next to where I was sleepin’ ’cause he didn’t like me camped out by the Thai place down the way.” She ran a hand over her purple coat. “Got my beautiful coat all muddy and wet. It’s all I got ’tween me an’ the elements, you know.”

  “Look who’s calling who fancy,” I said, soft and low. “You with that beautiful coat and all.

  She preened a little and curtsied. “I have a tiara, too.”

  “Oh! I’d love to see it sometime if you’ll show me.”

  But her pride turned to suspicion. “You friends with Fergus?”

  “I wasn’t friends with Fergus. He was only our landlord for one short day.”

  “Until somebody whacked him,” she cackled, then straightened and narrowed her eyes. “He called me names sometimes.”

  “How rude of him,” I replied, inching toward her. “Solomon told me he was mean to some of you. I’m sorry he was cruel to you and your friends.”

  Instantly her face went soft and dewy, made kinder by the shade of the bridge. “You know Saulie? My sweet, sweet Saulie?”

  “I do. We met just the other night. I invited him to Inkerbelle’s for some soup. We’d be honored if you dropped by, too.”

  She growled at us, making Coop stiffen. “I don’t need your help, Fancy Lady. You stay away from me!”

  I smiled and nodded my understanding, keeping Coop off to my side. “Oh, I’m not offering you help. You look like a lady who has it all together. You’d be helping me, in fact. I always make too much soup for just the two of us. I need someone to help us eat it all.”

  “Do you mean that icky soup with the chicken meatballs that aren’t anything like spaghetti meatballs, Trixie?” Coop asked, pulling her hair away from her face and tying a rubber band around the width to fluff it into a messy bun.

  I rasped a sigh of aggravation. It was good soup, for pity’s sake. “That’s the one,” I said out of the side of my mouth.

  She looked to the homeless woman and warned, “Don’t do it, lady with no house. You’ll regret it. It tastes like tires. Blech.”

  For a moment, the woman stared, bug-eyed at Coop, and then she garbled a laugh. “I like you! What’s your name again, girlie?”

  Coop stuck her hand out. “My name is Coop O’Shea. What’s yours?”

  The woman drove her small hand into Coop’s, and to my demon’s credit, she didn’t flinch at the dirt caked under her nails or the greasy streaks on the palm of her hand. “I’m Madge, and I don’t think I want any of your stinkin’ soup.” Madge then took a step toward the both of us until I could smell the alcohol on her breath in the heat of the midday sun. “But I’d take a bottle of blackberry brandy if you got some for an old lady like me.”

  I held up both hands again before driving them into the pockets of my overalls and pulling out the material lining them. “I’m fresh out, Madge. Maybe next time? We need to get moving, but it was nice meeting you.”

  She latched onto my arm and Coop, always at the ready, moved in, but I waved her off and smiled in question at Madge.

  “Where ya goin’?” she asked.

  Clearly, I’d piqued her interest, which was what I’d hoped to do by behaving as though I wasn’t interested in her.

  I patted her hand, the skin rough and dry and spotted with age. “We need to find Solomon. He’s sick. He needs medicine, Madge.”

  Madge scratched her head and nodded, her thin legs poking out beneath the ruffled nightgown she wore beneath her coat. “Aw, yeah. He always gets that bad cough. But he won’t see no doctor. Guarantee it. He’s scairt of ’em. Thinks they’re gonna lock ’em up. I tried tellin’ him the last time that looker Higgs was here, tryin’ to help him, they was just gonna take a look at him and give him some medicine and send him on his crazy way. But Saulie don’t believe nobody.”

  “You know Cross Higglesworth?”

  Now she grinned, her smile revealing the loss of some teeth, and she giggled like a schoolgirl. “Who don’t know him? He’s dreamy-steamy, always down here bringin’ food to everybody and checkin’ on ’em.”

  Dreamy-steamy. I suppose that could describe Higgs… “Do you trust him, Madge? Is he kind to you?”

  She shored up her shoulders and smiled wider. “We all like Higgs. Us girls, anyway. He’s nice. Nicer than that Fergus McDuff.”

  “Was he nice to Solomon?” I know Coop was probably rolling her eyes at me right now because she thought Higgs invented the sun and the moon, but I had to be sure.

  She looked at both of us. “Well, yeah. He’s nice to everybody. Even Saulie, who isn’t nice to anybody.”

  “Have you seen Solomon lately, Madge? I’d be so grateful to you if you could tell me where he is.”

  She rolled her shoulders and shook her head. “Ain’t seen him in a coupla days now. He’s always wanderin’ off to somewhere when he don’t want to hear everybody chatterin’. Calls it too many voices at one time. Last time I saw him, he was talkin’ about some guy he didn’t like. But Saulie don’t hardly like anybody.”

  Ah. The mad bad guy, likely. “Did he tell you who the guy was that he didn’t like, Madge? Do you know who the guy is?”

  “Nope. Saulie’s always talkin’ about somethin’, though. He don’t make a whole lotta sense most times with all his fancy old-time talk. But he gets the best day-old bread from Lettie’s Bakery down on Sherman. They like him there. So nobody says nothin’ to him about how nutso he sounds because everybody wants some of those high-falutin’ sourdough rolls.”

  I sighed, my lips dry and my head pounding as I tried to think about what to do next. “Do you know if anyone else here knows anything? Do you think they’d talk to me, Madge? Solomon’s very sick. I need to find him.”

  “Ya know,” she said, planting a hand on her reed-thin hip. “He ain’t never been gone this long before.”

  Worry stabbed at my heart and my stomach wobbled, my Danish spree from last night coming back with a vengeance. Where was Solomon?

  “How about the man with the hat like Gilligan? Do you remember that show, Madge? You know, the Skipper and Mary Ann? Have you ever seen him?” I asked, putting a hand ov
er my eyes to avoid the sun’s sharp glare.

  She kicked her torn sneakers around a little, scuffing the ripped soles against the ground, before she said, “Just saw him last night, ain’t seen him today, though. Probably went to the bar to see if he can get some leftover beer cans with a couple’a drops a beer in ’em. He sure likes his beer. Lookit that pile over there.”

  I glanced in the direction of her finger, where a pile of old Busch beer cans sat in a crumpled heap. Okay, we were on a fast train to Nowheresville, and I had to pull the plug.

  “Thank you, Madge, you’ve been very kind and very helpful. I won’t forget that. If you ever want a hot meal, stop by the shop once we’re up and running, okay?”

  “Don’t do it, Madge.” Coop whisper-yelled the warning, making Madge giggle.

  As we turned to leave, the boys who’d been skateboarding zipped past us, skateboards tucked under their arms, their gazes aimed right at Madge, their feet thundering on the ground. Four of them, all mostly dressed alike in slouchy jeans and T-shirts, except for one, who also wore a knit cap.

  In a split second, they grabbed her purse, something I suspected she treasured above all else, and began to toss it to one another, taunting her. “Look what we got, Madge! You want it back? Ya gotta pay the toll!” one of them crowed.

  And Madge crumpled as some of her belongings fell to the ground, one of them a plastic tiara, like one a child would receive at a princess-themed birthday party. “Pleeease, give that back!” she cried, tears sliding down her gaunt face. “That’s my favorite tiara in the whole world! Please don’t do this again! Why won’t you leave me alone?”

  “Pay the toll, Madge! Pay the toll!” another boy with red hair and splotchy freckles teased.

  They couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old, tops, in my estimation. But as they lobbed Madge’s bag around and somehow managed to knock her in the head with it, making her cry out in pain when the strap slapped her in the face, it was time to step in.

  So here’s the thing. I’ve mentioned before that I don’t always know when whatever is living inside of me in some dark crevice, tucked away near an organ or something, is going to take over, right?